


What I Can Give

by wintergrey



Series: Marvel Snax [11]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Art, Drabble, Gen, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1677566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintergrey/pseuds/wintergrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was talking about war artists with Roane and realized that Steve would love that position, even in the present day, so I wrote a little drabble about why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Can Give

"I thought it was a way I could finish out my tour, ma'am, at least give back the months I agreed on when I signed up." Steve may be Captain America but he still feels like a 98-pound kid with acne and sweaty palms when he's in the presence of a superior officer. The woman on the other side of the massive desk, Lieutenant-Colonel Avery, is flipping through his portfolio with a mildly bemused expression. "I understand if my art isn't up to par, of course, but also I realize I'd be a distraction in any regular unit—Army, Marine... there's nowhere for me to go where I wouldn't be underfoot. The men don't need that."

"Your art is quite good, Rogers. This would necessitate a transfer to the USMC and an imbed in one of our forward units. I'm assuming you're already familiar with your orders."

"Yes, ma'am." Steve already knows it by heart. "Go to war. Do art."

"Let's be honest. For a man who doesn't want to be treated any differently than any other soldier, this is... well, being treated differently from any other soldier. Most people don't just walk into my office." Avery leans back in her seat and folds her hands. She's a tall woman who reminds him a little of Peggy, from her sharp tone to her pinned-up auburn hair to her carefully-applied slash of red lipstick. Behind her are photographs of her tours of duty. Peggy would have loved this era, this military. "Still. No harm in you using your leverage for the greater good, right? I hope you can hand me some strings to pull. Funding for the art collection is always tight but we are short one artist."

"I heard about Sergeant McCall, ma'am. Very sorry about that." McCall's death gives Steve a chance to take his place but the last thing he wants is to seem disrespectful about it—like a vulture waiting for an opportunity to pick over a corpse.

"I get to know all my artists," Avery says tartly but Steve knows the acid in her tones is just to cover up the pain of losing someone. "McCall would have just been pissed to go out in a goddamn traffic accident in Iowa instead of in action. And he'd have been damn pleased to know who took his place, which is good enough for me." She closes his portfolio and offers it back to him. "Point me to those strings, Rogers. I'll pull, you pack."

  
"You're doing what?" Tony's chair scrapes as he spins around just as Steve is leaving the workshop after five minutes of incredibly fruitless and one-sided conversation.

"Leaving. Six months." He's already said it twice but apparently the third time is the charm.

"To do art? I didn't even know you—" Tony waves both hands vaguely. "—arted."

"I've been assigned to the USMC as a war artist," Steve says patiently as he turns to go for the second time. There's no sense getting chippy with Tony, it just gives him something to work off of when he's feeling dramatic. "You'll be fine."

"That's not the point," Tony calls after him. "You can't just leave now! I'm making you a Cap-worthy gym and I don't know a damn thing about being fit and things."

"You're a genius." Steve stops just once more—Tony looks completely forlorn, like he doesn't have a building full of people at his beck and call, not to mention the rest of the Avengers. "You'll be fine. Besides. There's always email."

  
"Of course you gotta go." Sam gets it. He perches on the edge of Steve's desk, watching him pack. "I didn't even know there was such a thing as war artists. I mean, I knew there were guys who painted war scenes but not official artists. You could probably do a lot of good on the front lines, too, being Captain America. Or do a morale tour—starlets and comedians and musicians, oh my."

"I know." Steve pauses, halfway through his brush count. He wants to be sure to have extras of his favourites before he gets stranded somewhere in the mountains or desert without them. "But... that was never the point." It always sounds strange and foolish when he talks about these things aloud, outside his own head.

"You want Steve Rogers to do something for his country," Sam says gently. "Not Captain America."

"Yeah." Steve comes over to the desk to look for a spare pack of sable brushes. "That." Sam gets this, too, apparently.

"And this is what you feel like you have left to give. Your art." Sam offers Steve the thing he's been fiddling with absent-mindedly, a pack of spare brushes, but doesn't let it go right away. He hangs onto it so that Steve has to meet his eyes. "Your country is lucky to have you, Steve."

That's really all Steve ever wanted to hear. "Thanks, Sam. I'll do my best."


End file.
